Sometime I feel,
Why can’t I speak,
of the sky
and the worlds that I see
Perhaps my words are as
little as me.
I see oceans so deep,
filled with broken people’s love weep;
Clouds so dark
because of the rain that break their heart;
A flying ship, stars that can shoot,
Perhaps my life is best spent astute.
I see vast blue skies,
blue due to million spoken lies;
Poor planets cries in form of rains,
for the moon when his/her heart pains;
but they heals with dry eyes and their rings again spin,
Perhaps my patience runs thin.
I see flow of God’s art,
art that can rip your heart apart;
Sparks so tiny,
Engulfing a forest into flames huge and shiny;
A foes that can fry, friends that can fight,
Perhaps my waifs never outlast after night.
I see a seeming sad, silent moan,
inside holding a mighty teary cyclone;
Waves rising so high,
just to last for a minute before they die;
but tonight I speak,
and writes this rejected bleak,
because the dark-space is nigh,
and about to attack;
with so much to see; so much more sky,
fate wouldn’t bring me back
as vast hope will again capture me,
in some another sea.
But tonight I speak,
because in dark my freedom is at peak.
